“Does sweet Mama Porter cook and clean?”
“I do a lot of the day to day stuff and everyone pitches in, then like I said I have a cleaning service come in twice a week and scour the place.”
Maryn took a slow breath. “You’re not what I expected, Tucker Shaffer.”
“Is anyone ever what you expect?” Tuck wondered if she liked what she learned about him or liked her original perception of him more.
“Good point. So, tell me more.”
He laughed and shook his head. No way was she getting much more out of him than she’d already gotten. Unless she was willing to go on a date with him sometime soon. “I’ve already told you more than any reporter I’ve ever met.”
“That wasn’t tough, you’ve never talked to any reporters.”
“Good thing I liked you the first time I saw you or I would’ve thrown you out.”
“Would you really?”
Tuck had to look down. He folded his napkin and placed it on his near-empty plate. “Probably.”
“Why do you want people to be afraid of you?”
Tuck hunched over, feeling like she’d punched him in the gut. “It’s just easier that way.”
“So the mysterious, ultra-wealthy loner who frightens everyone away is really a softy who cleans toilets and only allows those he’s trusted for years close to him.” She leaned toward him and he smelled a fresh, clean scent. It reminded him of sunshine and lilacs.
Tuck lifted his hands. “I don’t clean toilets.”
She smiled. “Why keep the world at arm’s length?”
“How much of this are you going to print? You aren’t writing anything down.”
She tapped her head. “Near perfect memory. At least when I care about what I’m learning. I promise I’ll send you the article before it goes to print for your approval.”
“I really don’t want all my secrets out to the world.” His voice dropped and he should’ve been embarrassed as he said, “If you were asking for Maryn Howe instead of for The Rising Star, I might be persuaded to reveal a secret or two.”
She tilted her head to the side. That silky blonde hair trailed over her shoulder and Tuck wanted more than anything to entwine his fingers in it.
“Are we that friendly?” she asked.
Tuck suddenly realized what a fool he was, coming onto the reporter who only wanted any dirt he was willing to reveal. He needed to get a social life. Maybe he could find a nice girl at the local church they attended on Sundays or let Johnson set him up. Tuck hadn’t dated much the past few years, but obviously it was time if he could feel an immediate connection and attraction to someone who needed to be kept farther than arm’s length.
“Why didn’t you show me the third floor?” Maryn asked.
Tuck drew in a slow breath. “That’s my private suite. I don’t show it to anyone, most of all to reporters.”
“What if I was asking as Maryn Howe not as The Rising Star? I promise not to take any pictures or print anything you tell me on that floor.”
Tuck knew he was a lonely, depraved idiot, but it wasn’t like she was going to open drawers, look through his desk, or find everything he wanted to hide. He stood, offered her his hand, and said, “Okay.”
w
Maryn tried not to stare at Tucker as they ascended the grand staircase then kept winding up and up. Glancing out the windows, she could see snow swirling in the air. She sucked in a breath. “Look at that! It’s so pretty. I’ve never seen snow before.”
“Really?”
“California girl.”
He grinned at her. Maryn smiled back, but then suddenly realized she’d have to drive in this snow. How terrifying, but she couldn’t leave now, she was just getting to the good stuff with Tucker. No way was a little white fluff going to interrupt that. She’d just have to be extra careful and pray the snow stopped.
Tucker rested his hand on her back, but when she glanced up, he quickly dropped it. He was… prickly and handsome and he just had presence. Definitely more interesting than any man she’d ever encountered. His eyes were so full of secrets she felt like she was wading through half-truths every time he told her something. What was he hiding? He’d been in the Army with Johnson; she knew that from her research. Why lie and say that only Johnson had scars from service? What had he done in Afghanistan that had affected him so deeply? If only she could snoop a little more. Instant guilt arose. Tucker had been very kind and accommodating to her. He didn’t deserve his dirt displayed for the world to mock. Whatever she discovered by the time she left here today, she vowed to paint him in a good light.
Tucker opened the double doors and Maryn’s jaw dropped open. They entered a sitting area first with floor to ceiling windows. Fat snowflakes floated from the sky. She should say her goodbyes and find her hotel before the roads got too dangerous, but she couldn’t force herself to leave yet. There was still much more to learn about Tucker and she wanted to be the one to learn it. Oddly enough, the article was no longer the number one reason for spending more time with him.
The walls of the room were knotty pine and all the furnishings were a deep reddish-brown leather, except for a mahogany desk and a cherry wood mantle over the granite-surround of the fireplace. There was an archway to her right into a bedroom with a massive bed and she could see an arched bathroom entrance and a walk-in closet beyond that.
“This is amazing,” Maryn breathed.
Tucker’s face relaxed into a smile. “Thank you. My private sanctuary.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me. I won’t… take any pictures or write about it.” Their eyes met and held and she whispered, “I promise.” Many wealthy people had private rooms they didn’t want on display, but there was something more here, she felt it. She would keep her promise, even from James and Alyssa. Thinking of James made her feel guilty. He wouldn’t appreciate the way she was so intrigued by this man. She needed to keep this attraction under control, but when Tucker nodded his thanks and gave her a brief smile, darn if that scar next to his lip didn’t appear. Thoughts of James were pushed far away.
Tucker gestured toward the overstuffed leather seats by the gas fireplace. A quick click of a button on the remote and the fire sprang to life. Maryn sank down and studied the churning snowstorm outside. It was truly beautiful. “This is perfect. If only I didn’t have to drive in the snow and could sit here with a cup of cocoa and a Baldacci novel.”
“I think you’re going to get your wish. These snowstorms can be vicious. You’ll have to stay until it passes.”
The muscles in Maryn’s neck tightened. She’d wanted that invite and she definitely didn’t want to drive in the snow, but what if things became awkward? “Oh, I couldn’t possibly… stay.”
She felt his gaze on her and almost gasped at the amused and honestly wicked glint in his brown eyes.
“I’ve had enough bad press.” Tucker spread his hands, the picture of innocence, except for the searing look in those eyes. “I’m not going to add, ‘threw a reporter out of his house in a blizzard where she slid off the road and received gaping wounds then caught hypothermia and died,’ to the stack.”
Maryn took a long breath. Her gaze returned to the lodge pole pines being loaded with snow. Whereas the view used to include the river, it was now impossible to see past the first row of trees. She’d never experienced snow, but would assume this was what the newscasters meant when they said a whiteout. The storm had come on quick.
“I don’t want to impose,” she murmured.
“Mama Porter would be thrilled,” he said.
“What about you?” she asked before she could stop herself, curse her errant tongue.
“I would be… grateful for the opportunity.”
“Opportunity to do what?”
“Get to know my beautiful reporter better.”
“And here everyone claims you have no social skills.”
Tucker’s eyes darkened but his smile remained in place. “If you stay, you’ll be able to te
ll them a different story.”
Goosebumps rose on Maryn’s arms. She wasn’t sure what story she was going to tell when this adventure was over, but the idea of spending more time with him had every nerve singing. She licked her lips and then forced herself to focus on the beautiful scenery outside, lest he notice her drooling over him.
Tucker’s phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, standing and walking into his bedroom.
Maryn also stood and walked around, looking at the artwork he’d chosen to display. She was shocked to see one of her friend, Alyssa’s, photographs on the wall. This man liked Baldacci novels and A.A.’s photography. Of course, Alyssa was now married to Beckham Taylor, but she still did her artwork under A.A. Maryn was beginning to think that Tucker was too good to be true. Why had everyone made him out to be a social cipher and a jerk?
Tucker was still talking in the other room, something about a grizzly bear on the property which had entered through the river. It sounded like the guard dog, Johnson, was monitoring the situation. She shivered. She’d never seen a bear except for at the zoo, but they still gave her nightmares. Taking Tucker up on his offer to stay inside this safe, beautiful house sounded better and better.
She paused at an antique roll top desk nestled against one wall. She wanted to open it in the worst way. Curse reporter instincts. She’d promised Tucker she wouldn’t reveal anything she learned in his rooms, so what would it hurt to look?
Unable to resist, she made sure Tucker wasn’t looking, and slowly lifted the cover. Photos were scattered over the desk, all of them snapshots of beautiful children near a cave entrance. The scenery was brown, possibly desert. They appeared to be of Arab descent. Maryn wondered what the connection was to Tucker. She picked up a picture of a darling boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. Turning the print over, she read, “Murdered by Lieutenant Tucker Shaffer.”
She gasped and dropped the picture like it was a hot ember from the fire. Her heart thumped louder and louder. Had she really seen that? It couldn’t be true. Tucker seemed like such a nice guy.
Leaning back, she spied Tucker inclining against the four-poster bed with the phone to his ear. Maryn picked up a snapshot of a teenage girl with flowing black hair and a beautiful smile. She slowly turned it over and the same words were written in bold marker, “Murdered by Lieutenant Tucker Shaffer.” Her eyes darted over the pictures, ice rubbing along her spine. There were at least half a dozen of the pictures. He couldn’t possibly have… killed all these children?
Cold fear pricked at her neck. She needed to get out of this house. “Okay, girl,” she muttered to herself, “play it cool and then make a quick exit. He’ll never know.”
Setting the picture down, she grabbed the top and started rolling it down. It squeaked. She gasped and moved it slower, saying a quick prayer for help. She noticed the silence a split second before she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
Maryn released the desktop, whipped around to face him, and tried to back up, but she was pressed into the desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see. I was just looking around. They were sitting right on your desk.” She hated that her voice squeaked but her throat was closing off.
He leaned into her space, his dark eyes snapping. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he repeated.
“I-I think I need to go.”
“Screw the bad publicity,” he snarled. “You think I’m going to let you leave now? Tell the whole world about what a monster Tucker Shaffer really is?” His lips curled into a feral grin. His brown eyes had turned black and cold.
Maryn’s breath was coming in short bursts. He wasn’t touching her, but she felt like she was standing in the shadow of a calculating animal and he was going to lash out at any second. Being mugged last summer was less terrifying than the look in Tucker Shaffer’s eyes. How had the warm, friendly man morphed into this beast?
Without thinking, she stomped on his foot with the heel of her red boots. He cried out, probably more in surprise than pain. She ducked under his arm and sprinted out the door. She ran down the three flights of steps without looking back to see if he pursued. Mr. Braxton was in the office and glanced up in surprise when she yanked the front door open.
“Ms. Howe?” He hurried into the foyer. “Where are you going? There’s a bear and—”
“I’ll take my chances,” she muttered, flying down the front steps and ignoring whatever else Mr. Braxton was trying to say. Her little red rental car was still sitting there in the circle. At least they hadn’t moved her car and kept her prisoner. There was something very wrong with this house and the people inside.
Maryn slipped on the snow and went down hard. Her elbow and knee slammed onto the wet pavement. She hauled herself up, limping and sliding the remaining steps to her car, these cute boots were not made for snow. She peered through the thick snow, waiting for a grizzly bear to rip her apart. Not sure if she was more scared of a real grizzly bear out in this forest, or the beast of a man inside the house. She chanced a glance up, up to the third story. Tucker Shaffer stood at the window.
Read more or buy The Feisty One here.
The Adventurous One by Jeanette Lewis
“What’s ahead for you?” Taylor asked as they sat on the restaurant patio with sandwiches and salads. They were at a small round table and had pulled their chairs so close they were almost touching. The sun was warm on their faces and a small breeze ruffled their hair. Taylor thought of the skydiving and wanted to go back.
Lane picked at his pasta salad with his fork. “I don’t know. Same old, same old I guess. Work. What about you?”
Her face fell. “I’m not sure. I mean, I submit my travel plans to my editor a year in advance, so I guess I’ll be picking up where I left off in my schedule when I leave here. I just ...” She trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.
“You’re wondering what’s ahead for us?” he asked softly.
Heart in her throat, she nodded. The differences between this day with Lane and the day on the boat with Brent were stark in her mind. No guilt, no harsh words, no second guessing, no nerves—except for the good kind. Just being with him, just looking at him, sent thrills shooting through her core and goosebumps parading up her arms. It was embarrassing, really, though if he’d noticed, he hadn’t commented.
Lane put his fork down and reached for her hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I really like you. No, scratch that, I more than like you.”
Taylor gave up all pretense of playing it cool. “I more than like you too,” she whispered.
He flashed her a smile, then he was leaning toward her and she was leaning toward him. There was a moment, right before she closed her eyes, when she could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the fringe of lashes around them. He smelled clean and soapy and faintly like pine trees. Then her eyes fluttered closed and his lips brushed hers, warm and soft.
She didn’t remember dropping her fork, but suddenly her hands were free, sliding up the warm contours of his arms, over his muscular shoulders, and into the thick hair at the back of his head. Heat and longing exploded through her body as she wound her fingers into his hair as his mouth claimed hers. He tasted like cola and salad dressing, like spending a lazy summer day in a hammock, like swimming in a warm hot springs, like freedom and passion and love.
Lane’s arms were around her, one clamped at her waist, the other at the back of neck, guiding her head so their mouths moved in sync.
“Get a room!” Someone hollered, another diner on the patio, and they broke apart. For a moment they stared at each other, unsure whether to be embarrassed by so much PDA, but then Taylor giggled. She didn’t care.
Lane laughed. “Sorry about that,” he called to the person who yelled. “Can you blame me though?”
The man chuckled, shaking his head, and went back to his lunch.
“Wow
,” Lane leaned forward, resting his forehead against Taylor’s. “Can we do that again?”
She couldn’t quite catch her breath. “Come with me,” she whispered, before she could think.
His eyes grew big. “What do you mean?”
It was pure impulse, brought on by desire and raging hormones, but more than that, the knowledge that this was what she’d wanted from the moment she’d seen him again. She wanted to explore the world with this man at her side. “No expectations,” she added quickly, seeing the confusion in his eyes. “We’d get separate rooms, like when Summer and I travel with her boyfriends. I just ... I think it would be really fun to have you along, and I think you’d like it. It could be the way it was, at the outdoor club, the two of us, together. I want you to come, need you to come ... need you,” she finished shakily.
He ran one hand down the curve of her cheek and sat back. “What’s your next trip?” He asked.
“I cut my trip to Mexico short to come help with Grandma, so I have a couple more weeks free, but then in August, I start the Appalachian Trail.” The thought of having Lane along turned it from an exciting hike into a magical adventure.
“The Appalachian Trail is over two thousand miles long,” Lane said. “You’re hiking all of it?”
“Not the whole thing,” she said. “I haven’t finalized my route yet, but I’m planning to be in New England by autumn to see the leaves. Depending on how much longer Grandma needs me, I might start there and work my way south. What do you think?”
She’d thought it would be exactly like the kind of thing Lane would love. But his face fell and he stared past her at their reflection in the restaurant windows. “Yeah, sounds great,” he said slowly. “If I could walk more than a mile without needing to rest. Or if I could even get up an incline as steep as a dopey bridge in a city park.”
The Daring One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 15
